


the dying of the light.

by alighting



Category: Dangan Ronpa, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: AU, F/M, Gen, warnings for coerced attempted suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 11:43:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1777774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alighting/pseuds/alighting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the kink meme:</p>
<p>"After an accident, Peko is left blind and scared and she hates that she finds it so difficult to do anything by herself anymore. Kuzuryuu is more than happy to help her with anything."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one.

**Author's Note:**

> Long story short, this is still a work in progress. Tossing it up here as well, so as to allow for easier tracking with my erratic update schedule.

When the Master’s cousin is murdered, beheaded by a rival gang, it is unsurprising that the orders are to descend upon their compound and exact revenge. Distant though they might have been, attacking one of the Kuzuryuu is a challenge against all: a declaration of war, one they cannot let go unpunished.

She does not know why they would be so foolish as to challenge the largest yakuza family in Japan. The group itself is relatively small, and they do not seem to be particularly skilled – she is in the room when the man’s body is identified, guarding the young master as he sits with his family, and it is clear to her trained eyes that the headsman did a poor job with the decapitation. It took multiple cuts – the first few were off and struck hard bone, the others not fully through.

Perhaps it could have been mistaken for an act of cruelty, had the strikes not spoken of an unsteady hand.

Peko, on the other hand, has been trained not to falter. If the young master gives the command, she becomes the sword – a clean cut, neck fully severed by the point of her blade. If she is given the chance, she will not make the same mistakes when giving the rival leader his comeuppance.

Fighting is the easy part, when it comes to turf wars. She has been training her whole life for the dance of battle, and even with the many dangers about she feels no fear. The difficult part, in truth, is keeping the young master out of harm’s way.

It is not that he is an ineffective fighter so much as he is hardheaded. He rushes into dangerous situations in order to prove himself, but he is often unable to escape them unharmed – not without her help. Pride forces him into danger, but his gentle soul keeps him from ruthlessly disposing of the many in his way, unlike herself and the others.

So it is not a surprise that when one of the higher-ups makes a run for the roof, the young master shoots after him. It’s a tactical retreat – the roof would leave him cornered, but it would also make them all exposed, a significant danger when on enemy soil. She cannot guarantee his safety if he goes out there, and so she hopes against hope that she can talk sense into him just this once.

“Young master—!” But he’s off, taking the stairs two at a time in his hurry to reach the top…and leaving her no choice but to follow.

As soon as the fresh night air hits her face, she knows they’re in trouble. It’s not just that their target has the young master at gunpoint – she could take him out easily – so much as it’s also that she’s aware of the number of shooters with their guns trained on their position from the distance.

Most aren’t trained snipers, so the odds of fatal shots are low. And yet, there is little comfort in the knowledge that stray bullets could be flying through the air at any moment.

When the young master moves, the target readies his gun, and she flies into action. Even while balancing on the edge of the roof, it is easy enough to separate the man from his hand, gun and all, and she’s able to tune out the shriek of pain that pierces through the night air. Perhaps it’s because something more important has caught her eye – there is movement by the stairs, and there is a gun at the ready.

She moves before she can think, turning to push the young master down. He doesn’t see her coming until too late, and he falls gently onto the shingles in in front of her, palms breaking his fall – just in time, thankfully, as she hears the crack of a gunshot almost immediately afterward.

It’s funny, how the pain in her shoulder feels distant – as if it doesn’t affect her. What she does feel is slipping – her feet lose their precarious positioning on the lip of the roof, and she can feel her stomach flip as her shoulders start rotating backward. And then she falls.

She watches the sky, eyes focused on the stars until the surrounding blackness permeates all.


	2. two.

“—n’t tell the extent of the damage until she wakes up. A full neurological exam will tell us more, Kuzuryuu-san.”

“And how long will that be? As I’m sure you’re aware, I don’t have much time to waste with matters like these.”

The voices wake her.

It’s midnight, or at the very least past sunset; Peko can’t even make out the shapes of the adults through the blackness blanketing the room. She’s not certain what hospital allows visitors (insomuch as the Mistress could count as a visitor, she supposes) in the middle of the night, but perhaps the Family is given special accommodations. Then again, she would expect there to be indoor lighting in the upscale hospitals the Family frequents…

How long has it been since she lost consciousness? If it’s still night, perhaps only an hour or two – she’d been pretty high up, but perhaps her fall had been cushioned somehow. More importantly, had the young master been able to get himself out of the situation up on the rooftop?

“I see you’re awake, Pekoyama-san. How are you feeling?”

She jumps. It’s startling, how close he sounds; how is it so dark that he isn’t in view? Her ears and eyes are telling her conflicting stories, and as a warrior who prides herself on being aware of her surroundings, it is nothing less than unsettling.

“…All right.” To admit pain would be to admit weakness, and the Family has no need for a weak tool.

“You were out for quite a while there, so I’m going to need to perform a few quick tests on you to see where you’re at neurologically. Can you focus your eyes on my finger?”

It’s an unfair question to ask, with the lights off. It takes everything within her to bite down her frustration.

“Could you turn on the light, please, Doctor?”

A pause.

“Pekoyama-san, they are on.” She doesn’t like the note of…something in his voice; it unnerves her. “I think we’re going to need to do more tests.”

He doesn’t say what for, but as she continues to stare into the endless void she realizes that she already knows.


	3. three.

It’s later that she gets the full diagnosis: complete bilateral blindness, as a result of indirect traumatic optic neuropathy. It’s a bulky way of saying that it’s neither her eyes nor her brain that’s damaged, but the wiring in-between. It sounds clinical, detached; she would be almost envious if it hadn’t made her life meaningless.

Of course, the doctor is quick to reassure them that not all cases of blindness are permanent; in fact, some will improve with steroids or surgery! Now that the concussion is no longer putting pressure on the nerve, giving it time and treatment may allow it to heal.

It would be a lot of money to spend with no guarantee. It’s for that reason that she’s not surprised when Mistress rejects the offer, instead asking if they can simply “bring her home because she’ll be able to heal more quickly around family.”

Peko’s certain that her concern is more about the hospital bills than anything else, but the doctor seems to buy the act hook, line, and sinker. She’s granted permission to leave the hospital earlier than advised, under the supervision of the Mistress who would see to it that she would be given proper treatment.

The ride back to the compound is filled with an oppressive silence. Peko keeps her head down, concerned about the possibility of inadvertently looking in Mistress’s direction, as the driver continues on. She can tell that the older woman is not pleased, but as Peko’s yet to hear anything from her directly, she has no idea what it means for her.

When they arrive at the compound, Mistress takes her hand and bids her to follow; they need to have a private conversation. Without sight, it’s hard to parse where in the compound they walk to; there are no clues for her, and all she can depend on is memory. Still, she’s able to reasonably guess the general area the Mistress leads her to, if not the particular storeroom.

It’s then that they must be in privacy, for that is when the orders arrive.

Mistress slides something into her hand. The weight and heft are familiar – a ceremonial dagger, no doubt, one of the ones the oyabun’s family keep on them at all times in case of danger.

“You know what you must do,” Mistress whispers lowly into her ear. The words slip and seep into her, chilling the blood in her veins. She almost misses the rustle of Mistress’s yukata, the soft footsteps trailing out of her room, as the sound of her voice echoes throughout her skull.

Of course, she is not surprised by the command, even if she hasn’t expected the malice in Mistress’s voice. It is what she has been expecting from the moment she realized the extent of her injuries. What good is a blind bodyguard – a shield who cannot see a strike to block it, a sword that cannot locate a foe in order to cut them down?

A broken tool should simply be thrown away and replaced.

She’s aware that it is far from the best outcome – this means that the family has wasted their time, effort, and money on raising her. For her to lose her worth at such a young age, their investment has surely been unsatisfying at best. No wonder Mistress had pushed so hard for her to be released from the hospital as early as possible, despite the doctor’s protests. Every moment she’d spent in the hospital had been more money lost by the Kuzuryuu family.

She was saved from death for one reason and one reason alone: to be the hitwoman of Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu. Now that she can be of no use to him, the least she can do is free him from the burden of her presence.

Properly, of course. Once her wits are about her enough to attempt motion, she gently slides into a perfect seiza, dagger still grasped tightly in her hand. The ornamental sheath is removed gracefully – if there is one thing blindness cannot take from her, it is her ability to work with blades.

That being said, it still takes both hands to locate and press the tip of the dagger to the proper position (shirt having been bunched up beneath her arms) without her eyes to guide her. Even so, it shouldn’t be too difficult – dig the blade deep into her stomach, rip it across and reveal the purity of her soul (assuming she even has one, of course) to the world.

She has no second to behead her, nor does she think it would be very kind of her to slowly bleed out on the Family’s floor, so it would probably be best to slit her throat afterward. That would likely cause a mess as well, but hopefully her heart would stop beating quickly enough to prevent such large amounts of blood loss. Plus, it would prevent anyone in the family from finding her and feeling obligated to attempt to save her life.

So resolved, she readies the knife, willing her apologies as she prepares to strike: Young Master, I apologize for being unable to protect you—

“—the fuck are you doing?!”

It’s enough to distract her for a moment – she did not expect anyone to interrupt, especially not with Mistress’s orders…and especially not the Young Master himself. She can’t place his tone – something slightly frantic, perhaps, although she can’t fathom why. Perhaps the idea of watching her kill herself is unnerving to him. It wouldn’t surprise her; he has always been soft-hearted, much more so than would be expected of a yakuza heir.

“Please do not concern yourself with this, Young Master.”

“Like fucking hell I won’t! Just—just give me the knife, Peko.”

It’s a direct order. He doesn’t tend to give her those, not often at all, and so it hurts all the more that she is unable to comply. Mistress’s orders come straight from the top and override the rest. He must be able to read that on her face, because he makes an inarticulate noise of frustration.

That’s the warning she gets before he’s suddenly nearby, attempting to separate her from the weapon. In his struggling, he manages to get a hand on the dagger. She’s able to keep a firm grip on it as well, if only because she’s aware that the odds of her being able to retrieve it in this state are slim, but she does not fight back. Keeping him safe is her fundamental order, and nothing could convince her to raise a hand against him.

He doesn’t seem to want to fight dirty, either. He’s not aiming to hurt her, just to break her grip, and even though he could probably throw her off-guard by exploiting her newfound weakness he doesn’t seem to take advantage of it.

“Shit, Peko, just let go of the goddamned knife, okay?”

She shakes her head, and she can hear the frustration in the choked-off noise he makes in response. It’s a stalemate; she, as a swordswoman, can prevent herself from being separated from her blade, but his presence also makes completing her task impossible. Of course, she’s certain there are drastic measures he could resort to that would tip the scales in his favor, but as long as she retains the knife she will not be powerless.

Of course, of all the drastic measures she could have expected, the young master choosing to kiss her is certainly the least expected.

She—she freezes. This is something that should not, cannot, ever happen, and yet she can’t pull herself away. It’s frustrating, too, to not be able to see his eyes, his face, and to try to understand what could have caused such an action – instead, all she has is lips and the silence of the room around them.

Peko’s pulled back to reality when she can feel the knife slip out of her limp hand. Well, crap. Motion back in her body, she pulls her head back and attempts to focus herself on the matter at hand.

“Y-young master..! Please, return the blade to me.”

He doesn’t seem to hear her, though; he’s distracted, likely, because it’s not long after that he lets out a loud swear.

“This is the fucking old lady’s, isn’t it? Is she the one who put you up to this?” She can’t answer, but she doesn’t really have to. She knows him well enough to know that he only uses that voice when he’s made up his mind.

Whatever he can read on her face makes him let out another inarticulate noise of frustration before leaving the room angrily....and leaving her unable to do anything but follow the footsteps.


	4. four.

Unfortunately for her, navigating the maze of the Kuzuryuu compound on audition alone is quite difficult. 

She can hear the general direction the young master is headed in – mainly, because he’s angry and is walking with much more force than necessary – but his pounding footsteps are the only clue she has at the moment. Even having lived in the compound her entire life, she hadn’t tended to wander around the entirety of the building, 

It’s all she can do to focus on the sound of the young master’s movement in order to follow him. That’s why, when her foot catches on an uneven floorboard, she hits the floor hard.

Thankfully, her reflexes are still intact; she manages to catch herself on her hands and knees before she slams her head against the floor. Her limbs smart, but she imagines it would’ve been worse otherwise – considering she only recently woke up from a serious head injury, it doesn’t seem like a good idea to hit her head again.

The footsteps ahead of her falter, and then suddenly speed up, coming closer.

“Sh—shit, are you all right?!”

She attempts to nod, but it makes her head spin, so instead she swallows and attempts to verbalize it instead.

“...Yes. I believe so.”

She attempts to get up, slowly but surely to try to avoid bringing the dizziness back. It’s silent for a moment, and then— “Here.”

A hand takes hers, helps support her and pull her up. She reflexively tries to bring it back, afterward - it’s odd, so much prolonged contact with the young master (in spite of her duties, he hasn’t wanted her by his side in years) - but he holds on tightly.

“...Last thing we need is you falling on your face again and cracking your head open.” 

They walk in silence, although Peko can feel her cheeks heat up with the humiliation. The tool who’d once been one of the best swordswomen in Japan now needs to be lead around by the hand like a helpless child. She doesn’t want to imagine the disdain that must be evident across the young master’s face.

Even as consumed in her thoughts as she is, it still feels like an eternity passes before the young master stops, seemingly having reached his destination. He releases her hand, his coming up to briefly rest on her shoulder.

“…Wait here. I need to talk with the old man.” 

There’s that firm voice again; if she hadn’t known any better (hadn’t known that it has something to do with this, something to do with her) she would have been pleased that he was finally taking charge the way the next-in-line should. She doesn’t know what he plans on arguing for, though, so she figures she should reserve judgment.

Still, that declaration is enough to clue her in as to where they’ve wound up—the oyabun’s room, or more specifically the hallway directly in front of it. Certainly an awkward place for a blind tool to be hanging out, but if that’s what the young master commands….

She manages a small nod, pressing her eyes shut to counteract the slight nausea still present from the motion. The hand is removed, and she can hear him enter the room with determination.

Even though she waits outside the room, she’s able to hear the discussion almost as well as she would if she had been invited inside. Shoji doors aren’t very thick, after all, and if there’s one thing the Kuzuryuu family is known for, it isn’t their indoor voices.

Unsurprisingly, it’s the young master’s angry voice that breaks the silence.

“What the hell were you thinking?! Who the hell does shit like that?”

“Fuyuhiko, be reasonable. She’s of no use to us anymore. A broken tool should simply be discarded.”

She can mentally see the Master shaking his head, once again disappointed.

“She...she fucking lost her sight protecting me! And you think you should kill herself? I just can’t…”

“We’ve spent 16 years paying for her food, her clothing, her schooling, and all we asked in return is that she pay back her debts by protecting and serving you. She’s not physically capable of doing that anymore, Fuyuhiko. There’s no reason to continue to finance her existence.”

The Mistress’s voice is calm, especially when compared to her husband and son, but she still speaks in an authoritative tone. 

“But she’s my—” The young master cuts himself off with a frustrated noise. A breath. And then, suddenly, he starts up again: “—she’s...mine, isn’t she? So I should get to decide what we do with her.”

There’s silence. She can’t imagine how the Master and the Mistress would respond to a declaration like that, and so she waits, interested.

And it seems like she’s not the only one interested, either. 

“...And just what do you propose, Fuyuhiko?”


End file.
